In Dreams
by Rose G
Summary: A collection of short stories, each concening one member of the Fellowship's dreams. Pippin's, Gimli's and Gandalf's chapters now up - complete.
1. Eveningtime

In Dreams

Rose G

Disclaimer - All this is property of Tolkien, and I have made no money from using it. Mel gave me the title - cheers, mate.

A/N - This is a bit hard to put into categories, as some chapters will be humour, some will be severe angst and others might just be normal. There might even be a romance one. Every member of the Fellowship will feature, and if I get enough reviews, I might do some others.

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Prologue 

Beneath the towering shadow of Caradhas, in the flickering rosy light that comes only when snow is brushed by a campfire, Gandalf sat and watched his eight sleeping companions. He had offered to take the unnecessary watch, just to give himself time to think about what they would do if the snowy path that led upwards as far as even Legolas could see, was blocked.

But even in the dead silence of the snow filled night in the wilderness, the Mair did not feel alone. His companions were asleep, but they were all restless, dreaming, moving and sometimes speaking in their sleep as the moon rode high in the sky and the stars started to slip behind the horizon. _I wonder what they are all dreaming about _the wizard mused and turned to look at Boromir, who was muttering something about Stewardships, and Aragorn, who was trying to embrace someone that Gandalf couldn't see. _Dreaming about Arwen, again, I guess. But I wish I knew what they were all thinking about._


	2. Aragorn

In Dreams - Aragorn

Rose G

Aragorn smiled as he walked, enjoying the sun beating down on his back and dappling the grassy track on which he walked. Alongside him, Elladhan walked; talking to him- telling his younger brother some story that was starting to bore Estel. Father was good at telling stories, but his twin brother's attempts left a lot to be desired. 

Eventually, he allowed Elladhan to walk ahead and headed off through the vast pine forests to his left. Somewhere behind him, he could hear the chuckling of the waterfall, and the soft vice of Glorfindel talking to Asfaloth. _I wish there were someone else around out here, _Estel thought. _There is such a thing as to many Elves and too much joy. _

He started violently, leaping but landing as quietly and in balance as the Elves who had raised him. A man, one of the few mortals that Estel had ever seen was standing where surely, no one had been standing a minute ago. He was tall, much taller than Estel and leaning on a fine wooden staff worn smooth with age. Long iron-grey hair cascaded around his shoulders, blue eyes that seemed very young sparkled with mirth and he wore a curiously shaped grey hat. Clad in a dark grey cloak and worn leather boots he looked like a King of myth and legend, born on wind driven ships from across the sea when Numenor drowned. _Why do I feel as though I should know this man?_

'Who are you, and for what reason do you walk in Imladris?'

'I am Gandalf - Gandalf the Grey. You must have heard the name, for it is part of your heritage and your destiny. And now, I have to speak with Elrond, your father.' The stranger walked off at a pace which belied his fragile appearance, and try as he did, Estel found himself dropping behind. There was something about this man that commanded respect, and he followed because he wasn't sure what else to do. 

Later, when dark had fallen over Rivendell and Gandalf had finished his conversation with Elrond, he sat with Estel in the Hall of Fire. The fires were reflected in his blue eyes and entranced, Estel watched as the old Wizard blew smoke rings, sending one through another and changing the colour. And he listened to Gandalf's tales of far away places; the story of Beren and Luthien whose love conquered death itself, of the great glory and grief of Numenor and the exploits of Bilbo Baggins and the Dwarves. The tales he knew well, but told by Gandalf they seemed to take on an immediacy an impact that Estel felt might affect his own life. 

Much, much later when Estel had fallen asleep to dream of a white tree in a starry night with stones at its base, Gandalf paused again to speak quietly to Elrond. 'That one is equal and more to his task. Numenor in the days of old would not have been a kingdom fair or large enough for him. A companion and ally like him will be a blessing.' The Elf and Wizard smiled as they looked down on him and even in his dream, he felt the strength of Elrond's love.

Miles away, years later, Aragorn woke with a start. The wind cut through him, yet the sound of Rivendell echoed in his ears. The feeling of being watched - gently, as a parent their child, was strong and he turned to see Gandalf watching the Fellowship. 'Sleep, Aragorn. You can rest for now, as no harm will come to you or any of the Fellowship while I am here.' And with the unchanged words soothing him, the Ranger slipped back into sleep. 


	3. Boromir

In Dreams - Boromir

Rose G

Gandalf rolled over again, convinced that he was lying on a stone if not a rock garden. Next to him, Aragorn's silver grey eyes drifted shut and the man sighed softly as sleep reclaimed him. It was Boromir now who shifted uneasily, cried out in his sleep.

__

Poor Boromir. I do not know what troubles him, but whatever it is, it grows on him. I just hope that it is not the Ring. All the same, I would not like his dreams tonight. 

'No, Father, no!' The scream was ripped from the man's very soul, a scream of agony beyond bearing. Faramir turned his head, sickened but made no reply. Denethor and Boromir stood high above Minas Tirith, on the seventh wall of the citadel. Beneath them, marching over Pelannor Fields came Orcs and Easterlings, cave trolls and the Haradrim. 

'Father, it is mine.'

'Boromir, the Ring could save your people. Save Minas Tirith at least and Middle Earth if lucky. If you will not use it, then you could at least allow me the use of it. People should not perish for so small a thing.'

The younger man lept backward, heedless of the drop and the ease with which arrows could reach him. Glancing at his city, he saw it as a ruin, covered in blood and shrouded in smoke. 

'It is mine, Father. Mine and it is precious to me.'

Faramir, peering through the dust had the strange impression that his brother was crouching slightly, one hand held flat over his Ring. Beneath the three men, the Gates were struck with a deafening crash; Grond rammed against them, wielding by two cave trolls and with a shrieking of tortured steel, they fell. Orc feet beat in a hasty, iron shod rhythm as they marched into the city that had never fallen. Boromir shuddered; they sounded for all the world like drums in the deep. 

'It is mine. My precious.'

'And Minas Tirith would be yours, my son, but only if you allow me to use the Ring. Otherwise, you will have nothing left to rule. I would not keep it, you must know that, or do you think no more of your father than of some sneak thief?'

'When the time is right, Father, I will use the Ring. Sauron himself cannot face it, but I would not use for something so small as Minas Tirith. It is not worth it. Your pathetic city can fall; if I wished I can claim Valinor for myself if I so wish.'

Boromir raised a shaking hand to his face and brushed away tears that he had not felt fall. Below, Orcs were marching up Rath Dinen, the Silent Street and entering the Sixth Citadel. Men, his men were fleeing, blood dripping from wounds and proud livery being discarded. As he watched, the Standard of the Stewards, already begrimed with ash, fell and was blown away on the wind, carried towards Minas Morgul. 

'Why should I save your city, Father? What aid have you ever given to me?'

Denethor lunged forwards, one hand reaching for the Ring. Boromir slipped one finger into the golden band and stepped backwards. He slipped on the stones. Boromir fell - fell and fell and fell, screaming. 

Watching in horror, Faramir saw the Ring fall alongside his brother's body; saw the Nazgul swing their steeds towards Boromir and heard the Orcs pause in their work. Sauron's eye swung towards Gondor. And still, Boromir fell.

He woke with a start, soaked in sweat and with the sensation of falling still twisting his stomach until he felt sick. Gandalf looked towards him and shook his head. _If his screams did not call all spies in the area to us, then nothing ever will. _Aloud, he said 'Gondor will not fall, Boromir. Go back to sleep.'

Boromir closed hi eyes, only to see the Ring burning before them. He sighed and sat up, forfeiting all chance of sleep that night. 


	4. Sam

In Dreams - Sam

Gandalf shook his head, waiting for the echoes of Boromir's scream to die away over the mountain slopes. _At least none of the group has woken - Sam's grinning as though he's at home. At least some can have pleasant dreams out here in the Wild._

Sam felt his cheeks flame as Frodo looked at him. It really is a good party, isn't it, Master?'

Frodo smiled gently. 'Yes, Sam, it is. Bilbo planned it all very well indeed, what with the food and the dancing and everything. Not to mention Gandalf's fireworks. Have you asked Rosie to dance yet by the way?'

Sam blushed even harder, looking across at the pretty hobbit lass who was standing by a group of hobbit children. Bilbo was telling them a story about the great warhorses in a far away land, where every man was a warrior and women carried their flags into battle, with armour blazing in glorious sun and tack embellished with mithril. 'No, Master, not yet. She's been busy.'

'Not too busy to dance with you, Sam, I'd wager. Go and ask her.' Frodo gave his friend a gentle shove in her direction then chuckled wickedly behind his hands.

''Hello, Rosie. Uh…Do you - do you want to dance with me?' The last words were a confused jumble as he stumbled over them.

'Sorry, Sam?'

'Uh…Rosie, would you like to dance with me?'

She looked over at him, blue eyes meeting with his brown ones. Opposite them, Bilbo paused in his story telling to watch and only returned to his task when a small boy pulled at his waistcoat.

'If you want to, Sam.' She slipped her hand into his, led him over to the roughly marked area and settled into the dance with graceful ease. Sam knew the dance; he tried desperately to keep his steps in time with the music and not embarrass himself. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Merry and Pippin laughing despite Gandalf's icy blue glare.

The music enveloped Sam until he and Rosie might well have been the only people dancing. And when that song ended, it was Rosie's turn to look at him, ask him to dance. Their steps were surer this time each more sure of the other.

Much later, as the last chords of the last tune were spirited away into the hills, he reached up and kissed her softly on the lips. 

Sam stopped dreaming then, but unlike the others, he did not wake. 


	5. Frodo

In Dreams Chapter 5

Rose G

Gandalf and the other wakers never noticed Frodo's dream; even faithful Sam was occupied with his own thoughts.

Frodo stepped forwards, one pace and then another until he had advanced about a mile. Black mountains towered behind him; mountains of the shape of those around Rivendell, hills like those in the Shire. A wind, somehow black and dank blew down from them and howled not of death but of enslavement beyond the reach of time. Horrors beyond the imagination of Melkor.

He began to hurry, increasing the length of his strides rather than his speed. The terrible, awesome image of Mordor bathed in shadowless light drew him on against his will.

Behidn Frodo, others followed, calling to him, begging him. Aragorn, grim faced and bloodstained demanded his birthright. 'Mine, mine! My precious, by Isildur's hand!' and Boromir echoed his words. Legolas, fair face marked by the pallor of death reminded his companions of his death in Rohan. Gimli, Merry and Pippin swayed as they walked, ready to drink their own blood for liquid during this endless march.

'No! I must – I must return the Ring to Sauron! You cannot stop me.' Frodo shouted to them.

Sam wept as he collapsed, too weak to walk. 'Master, please stop. You are killing them – all of them. Strider and Merry and Pip. Don't you care?'

'I must give the Ring to him. He will heal them all; he can conquer death and come to rule.'

Gandalf or Saraman or sometimes both were there; Gandalf riding a black horse whose ribs cut through its tattered coat. The wizard begged for forgiveness, for rest and Frodo denied it.

As they drew nearer to Mordor, he called out and the Nine were there; each walking beside one member of the Fellowship and Frodo knelt to offer the Ring to a no longer incorporate spirit who exalted himself above even Manwë. And Frodo, the hobbit from the Shire shared in that glory as his companions fell to dust.

The taste of that was sweet, and Frodo did not wake; instead luxuriating in the security brought by the deaths of his challengers.


	6. Legolas

In Dreams Chapter 6

Rose G

Legolas, feeling uneasy at the strangeness of the snow covered mountain range where he and his companions lay, was unwilling to allow himself to sleep. Thousands of years of life can impart horrors in the mind of any being, let alone one who has served as a warrior. But elven dreams do not come only in the realm of Lorien.

Mirkwood was under siege. But to Legolas, it was still Greenwood the Great of his earliest childhood, Greenwood's soaring trees that were wreathed in smoke and darkness that was beyond the gloom of the worst winter day he had ever known.

Legolas could 'see' both pictures at once – the orcs around his home and the fast becoming dear faces of his sleeping companions around their campfire. He knew that he was dreaming, yet it did not lessen the horror for him.

Thranduil his father called for aid from the Woodland Halls. The joint army of orcs – The Enemy's and the White Wizard's – encircled the places where he had played as a child, the long pathways that he had walked in more recent years. On the outskirts of that, the giant spiders Wargs and the carrion birds that he had loathed since his earliest conscious days, prowled. The mournful howling of the wolves howling to Rana in his dream became one with the howls from the lower slopes of the mountain where he lay.

In his mind, he saw the Elven archers of Lothlorien coming to their aid – Haldir, laughing, the grim face of Celeborn their Lord and hovering in their memory, the radiant beauty of their Queen. They marched, light footed and smiling to their deaths. And then came the Elves of Rivendell, led by Glorfindel Captain of Gondolin, and Elrond son of Earendil, whose twin sons walked beside him. They too marched to their deaths, all the Elven realms east of Valinor falling together, managing what Melkor had never attempted.

Legolas watched his childhood home, his kingdom burn, his friends and father die like a foreshadowing of the ruin that he knew must come to the Fellowship. He tried to hold in his heart the pure anguish he felt at Thranduil's death, aware nothing would ever hurt worse than that, but he could not. The knowledge that he and the other watchers had allowed Gollum to escape and cause this was agony more than he could bear.

With a desperate effort of will, he forced away the last vestiges of his dream and sat up. The Wargs still howled, the carrion birds still swooped overhead but they were here and not in his home. Staring at the stars, he tried to remind himself that Gollum's escape was not solely his fault, yet he knew the creature was following them because he had allowed Gollum that taste of freedom.

Gandalf shut his eyes so that he would not have to see the silent tears of the young Elf.


	7. Merry

In Dreams Chapter 7 – Merry

Rose G

Merry dreamt vividly but reminiscently that night. Dreams of home, the Green Dragon, fireworks at Bilbo's party. Even dreams of the splendours of Rivendell, and feasting in the Halls of Fire. Only one dream that he failed to understand marred his night; a dream of horses and men who looked somewhat like Strider but different and grim.

Merry had no experience with horses; had know only the ponies of the Shire until he had briefly met Glorfindel's grey horse, Asfaloth who had surely been foaled in Valinor; was no more a horse than Merry was a man. In his dream, he walked through rows and rows of chargers, larger and stronger than Asfaloth. They were tethered up tightly, chafing at the restraint and the tack that some of them bore was grim and warlike, not beautifully elaborate as Glorfindel's had been.

They stamped and neighed, sweat starring and foaming on great chests and flanks. Tails swish-swished relentlessly; dark patient eyes rolled to show white as their heads raised in response to a horn blow. The saddles creaked with their movement as men run to saddle the others, struggling into their armour as they run with swords by their sides.

One of the men took Merry by the hand, legged him up behind the saddle of a bay horse and then mounted himself. The silent man wheeled the bay into line, joining the procession out of the camp. By the time Rana, the moon, soared full above them, they were cantering in a line, ghost horses and ghost riders behind and ahead, stretching out of sight. Merry's horse screamed his defiance as the horn rung out again, wild and thrilling, a warning to enemies in the night and they cantered on.

He slipped away from the horse, into another dream of home.


	8. Pippin

In Dreams – Pippin

Rose G

Pippin laughed out loud in his sleep, a sound so surprising in the harsh surroundings that Gandalf started and nearly woke Aragorn, who was asleep next to him.

'Merry, Merry, look at this!'

'What, Pip?'

'Look.' The young hobbit showed his friend a double handful of fresh mushrooms.

'They look good. Are you going to share them?'

'Maybe.' Pippin smiled. 'Can you carry some yourself?' He crammed some into his pack, then looked pointedly at Merry. 'Well, could you?'

'Yes, yes, I can.' Merry loaded himself up, and stepped off after Pippin down the track. Pippin broke into a jog, cutting through a small copse of oaks with Merry panting along beside him

'Pip, what's the hurry?'

'No hurry. Come on.' They run on in hobbit silence, alerting only the wild creatures to their presence. Pippin, even in his dream, felt the remembered guilt making his face flush as they heard the baying of the dogs behind them.

'You didn't take those from Farmer Maggot, did you? Frodo got caught the other day, chased all the way home by the dogs. He still hasn't recovered.'

'N-No. I found them. In a field.'

'Who's field?'

'The field owned to whoever owns the dogs, I think.'

Pippin slowed down, dropped all the mushrooms he was carrying. Merry did the same. 'Was it Farmer Maggot's field, Pippin?'

'It-it might have been, I suppose.' They run on until Merry turned away for home, leaving Pippin running on his own. The dogs were in sight behind him when he reached his lane, and with growing terror, he saw his father standing in front of him, with Maggot by his side.

'Peregrine Took!' Maggot thundered, gesturing the dog to leave him alone.

Immersed in dreams of home and boyhood, even one that had an ending as painful as this, Pippin smiled. The look on his face eased Gandalf's heart.


	9. Gimli

In Dreams – Gimli

Rose G

Gandalf was still entranced by the too-rare sight of a smiling face to even notice Gimli's dream. The dwarf was laying next to Legolas, who was making a credible attempt at shamming sleep to hide his distress.

Gimli walked through halls of splendour, halls of beauty. It was Moria, restored to the glory of Durin's day. The stream through the caves glistened as if it were crystal melted down; the forges burnt again; smiths shaped jewels and gems. An army was assembled, but it was in peace for now. Some of his cousins were there, Balin the King of Khazad Dum rushing to welcome him.

Aragorn turned to Gimli, a wondering smile spreading across the dark stubble of his face. 'I believe you now, Gimli, son of Gloin!'

The rest of the Fellowship spread out, each marvelling at the craftsmanship and the beauty. Aragorn was relaxing now, releasing his grip on Anduril. Gimli smiled with simple pleasure at his friends' awe. This was his birthright and sharing it with them seemed to be a thank you for their companionship. Even Legolas turned to stare, his golden hair catching the light from the lamps. The Elf attempted to appear unimpressed, to give the impression that this was nothing when compared to his woodland kingdom, but Gimli knew he was moved.

Gimli dropped back to stand next to the Elf, allowing Balin to greet Aragorn and Gandalf first. 'Does it match your expectations, Legolas?'

The Elf turned to face him. 'Yes, yes. It does.' His voice was sullen, but it was an admission of defeat, almost an offering of peace.

With that hard earned concession ringing in his ears, Gimli fell into a deeper sleep unmarked by any dreams.


	10. Gandalf and morningtime

In Dreams Gandalf

Rose G

Gandalf pulled his battered cloak tighter around himself and wondered whether he dare increase the fire without giving their location away. He sat there for a while, willing his eyes to stay open. Eventually, he saw a dark shadow stand up from nearby and walk over to him.

'Gandalf?' It was Aragorn, his voice cloudy with sleep. 'My turn on watch.'

The Mair didn't speak, simply lying down in silence and pulling the blanket that Aragorn gave to him up to his face. He was dimly aware of Aragorn pacing around, humming the Lay of Luthien under his breath. 'Gandalf, go to sleep. I'm on watch.' The Ranger resumed his pacing and humming, his weariness wearing off.

Able to relax now, Gandalf allowed sleep to take him. A few minutes later, Aragorn paused again in his pacing, wondering at the smile on that old, lined face. _What are you dreaming about, my friend? _he wondered, and then continued on his endless walk though every stiff muscle screamed in protest.

Gandalf dreamt of the West. He sat astride Shadowfax and the great white stallion cantered over the Sea, his hooves touching water in the wake of the last ship to sail. His old tired body felt strong now, the energy that he'd always felt in his mind infecting his body. Voices, known from some distant past that he did not fully remember, rang in his ears, telling of affection and friendship.

And as Shadowfax cantered on, the last hurt of his rider's mortal existence was eased – the burning on his skin, the smell of death from his body. Ageless, young again, immortal and unharmed, astride the white charger, Gandalf was borne into the West.

Aragorn raised them early from sleep and for the last morning, all nine of the Fellowship left dreams behind and walked in the dawning light of day.


End file.
